


this world is ours

by someawkwardprose



Series: multiverse theory [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Everyone Needs A Hug, Friendship, Love, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Psychological Trauma, Teenage Drama, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-22
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2020-03-09 15:19:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18919681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/someawkwardprose/pseuds/someawkwardprose
Summary: Making the same choices with different intentions can change everything. This time, things are different.or; Season 2, altered.In which, despite his assurances to the contrary, Jackson has a heart. And a huge boner for Stiles Stilinski.





	this world is ours

**Author's Note:**

> wheew! this took f o r e v e r to write (although not nearly as long as IAOW), and I'm not entirely happy with it, but here it is! this time we see Jackson's POV, and oh how the tables have turned. here's where the real canon-divergence begins, but it follows pretty closely to the show, so ignoring any Jydia scenes, assume any Jackson-related scenes I haven't included have happened.
> 
> the tags are a little dark, so I thought I'd get the content warnings out of the way: it's season two, so all the issues with bodily autonomy, mind control, Gerard Argent tw. regular show-levels of violence, and everything you'd expect with S2 Jackson POV fic. despite all this, I managed to make Jackson somehow better adjusted than he is in TW. I also love that I can use the tag "Teenage Drama" AND all the horrible psychological triggers together. Teen Wolf really was something, huh?
> 
> again, any glaring discrepancies, let me know!

It isn’t a love story in any world except theirs. It’s barely a love story in this one.

Jackson doesn’t - can’t - love Stiles, because Jackson isn’t really Jackson for two months, close to half the time he really _has_ Stiles, and not Stiles-instead-of-Lydia. Jackson can’t love Stiles because the _thing,_ the parasite that lives inside him can’t love Stiles and Jackson can’t love Stiles because he can’t really tell where the monster ends and he begins.

He also can’t not love Stiles, because the creature, the freak that is inside him, that _is_ him, it _adores_ Stiles in a fucked up parody of love that makes him sick. It wants to kill for Stiles, wants to offer a fresh heart for Stiles to devour. He can’t not love Stiles, but he can’t love him either, because the thing that both is, and isn’t Jackson, doesn’t deserve to love Stiles.

Jackson isn’t Lydia, doesn’t feel the urge to delve into the mysteries of the universe. That’s just not how he operates. He isn’t even Stiles, with his insatiable curiosity and need to _understand._ But when he can’t sleep at night, he thinks about the theories Stiles comes up with, his rambles about other timelines and worlds - and he wonders. Would he still be a monster? Would he have this much blood on his hands? Would he have gotten up off that cold concrete floor after feeling his alpha’s claws pierce through his stomach?

In this world, Jackson still has blood on his hands, and his soul is still stained when he stares at Stiles on the other side of the warehouse. It’s all kinds of fucked up. Jackson has done terrible things. Jackson is a monster.

It isn’t a love story in any world, but if you tell it the right way, it almost sounds like one.

* * *

_It starts, for Jackson, long before it starts for Stiles, and isn’t that the kicker?_

_It’s the first lacrosse game of the season, and Jackson is in top form. Lydia is cheering from the stands, with her newest homemade banner, and he feels like he’s top of the world. The night is warm after he scores the winning goal, and maybe he and Danny are a little exuberant in celebrating, but that’s only because Danny is a good friend and he knows Jackson wants to impress Lydia, so they both tug their shirts off together. Lydia bounces up in a ridiculously short skirt that, if Jackson plays his cards right and is very, very lucky, he might get his hands under. She pecks him and Danny on the cheek, but Jackson knows better than to try and hug her while being all sweaty, so he just grins._

_It’s when they’re trailing back to the showers that Danny nudges him, jerking his head back at Stilinski. He’s looking at the two of them, but flushes and turns away when he realises that they’ve caught him._

_Stiles Stilinski is the most annoying little shit at school. Ignoring his unhealthy relationship with McCall - Jackson’s not judging, he’s loves Danny, but at least he has other friends - Stilinski is too loud, too brash, too tactless. He goads Jackson half the time, despite the fact that he’s a skinny little beanpole, and Jackson could snap him in half. He never shuts up, knows the weirdest facts about shit that he gives Lydia a run for her money, fidgets and flails and knocks shit over at the most inopportune times. He annoys Lydia, both because of the crush he doesn’t try to hide and because he’s at risk of stealing valedictorian from underneath her nose without trying.  Danny tells them both to be a bit nicer (He’s got ADHD, guys, he could be so much worse), but Jackson knows he’s never been nice to Stilinski a single day in his life, and he isn’t going to fuck with the status quo now._

_Yet despite all that, Jackson isn’t as big of an asshole as he acts sometimes, and Danny isn’t anywhere close to a dick, so they save it until the changing rooms are empty. Or rather, Jackson brings it up as he’s towelling himself off and Danny is searching his bag for his deodorant._

_“So, Stilinski isn’t as straight as we thought, huh?”_

_“You thought he was straight, I said I got bi vibes,” Danny reminds him, spraying himself liberally like the queen he definitely is. Danny always smells nice - not that Jackson is jealous or anything. He’s just admiring._

_“Whatever. The way he was looking at you tonight proves it,” Jackson is in the middle of pulling his t-shirt over his head, which means he only catches the tail end of Danny’s incredulous look. “What? Something on my face?”_

_“It wasn’t just me he was looking at.”_

_Jackson knows he’s attractive. He works out almost obsessively, and watches what he eats to keep in shape. He has to be in top form, always, for lacrosse, for Lydia, for his Dad and his own expectations. But so is Danny, and Jackson is man enough to admit his best friend is hot stuff also, even if his god awful ex-boyfriend made him think he wasn’t._

_“Clearly, our combined attractiveness is a lure for skinny nerds.”_

_“Maybe he’ll stop pissing off Lyds and start panting after you,” Danny smirks, and the topic changes, but the realisation that Stilinski isn’t straight never quite leaves his mind._

* * *

The bite hurts. Jackson isn’t stupid, he knew that it wouldn’t be a love tap, but he hadn’t realised how it would feel, as ice burns through his veins, implacable and cold and _wrong,_ freezing him to the very core.

He expects to feel powerful. He expects to feel like it’s his birthright, like he’s finally getting what he deserves. He expects to feel as strong as he needs to be.

Hale’s hand is heavy on his shoulder, and Jackson refuses to scream. He holds it all in, until he’s sent off with a gruff, _go home._ Until he makes it home, limping upstairs past his mother’s worried eyes, past the door to his father’s home office that he never opens. He waits till he’s alone, in his room, before he cries.

* * *

 

_The thing is, Jackson’s straight as a board. He’s not like, a homophobe or anything, he fucking loves Danny in a totally platonic, dudebro manner. And maybe, when Danny first came out, they both got drunk and made out a little, but it didn’t do anything for Jackson.  If Danny - who is, objectively, the second hottest guy in school (Jackson isn’t being a dick, he just knows how to look in the mirror) - didn’t give him even the tiniest flutter, just. No._

_Jackson likes girls and their soft skin and the way their chests look in wet white t-shirts. He likes Jenny Sinclair and Heather Heyer from the other school and he really, really likes Lydia Martin.  He’s not gay._

_This reasoning does not, apparently, apply to his dick._

_Despite Stilinksi’s, well, everything, and despite the fact Jackson isn’t gay, he find himself watching, like some kind of creep. He follows the way his long fingers twirl through the air as he talks, and thinks about what the digits could do. He straight-up stares when Stilinski sucks on whatever is around him - pens, water bottles, and on one awful, boner-inducing incident, a lollipop - and fantasises about those pretty lips wrapped around his cock._

_It’s because of this that Jackson starts targeting him more, like he’s offended that the little shit takes up so much of his brainspace. The day_ **_it_ ** _starts, Jackson was like a tightly coiled spring, from a fight with Lydia, from Danny taking her side, from watching Stilinski bite his bottom lip all day, presumably due to McCall’s absence. It’s because of this, that when Stilinski kisses him, he doesn’t stop him._

_It’s a good kiss, for all that Stiles is obviously inexperienced. He makes up for it with enthusiasm, and his moans egged Jackson on, making him grind into the other boy. It wasn’t pretty, or dignified, but it was hot as fuck and Jackson wanted more. He hoisted Stiles up, encouraged him to wrap his legs around Jackson’s waist, and it just felt right._

_The time for freaking out came after._

_Stiles smirked, before Jackson could even say anything, the other boy walked out. Jackson isn’t accusing him of fleeing, but by God does he wish he'd been the one to leave. He took a deep breath, and his knees are shaking, so he sinks to the floor and tries to breathe through the impending freak out. Christ._ He kissed Stilinski. _A choked out laugh broke free without his permission._

_Lydia was going to kill him._

* * *

 

Stiles kisses like he talks - distractingly. He’s gotten better at it. Something in Jackson - the new thing, the thing he’s sharing this body with - it’s viscerally happy that they had that. That they had Stiles’ first kiss. Not took, because Jackson is under no delusions that he’s had any control of that first time. If he’s honest, he’s never been in control in this thing between him and Stiles.

Stiles kisses like he talks, distracting Jackson from everything going to shit around him, and he needs this, needs Stiles’ mouth like he needs air because Jackson is slowly losing control and kissing Stiles feels like it’s the only thing holding him together.

“Couldn’t even wait till practice was over-” Stiles gasps out, as Jackson starts rutting against him. “You just had to-”

“Shut up, Stilinski.” Jackson growls from where he’s mouthing bruises into Stiles’ collarbone. And Stiles does as he’s told, but he isn’t quiet, he’s never been quiet. It’s moans and gasps and whimpers that go straight to Jackson’s cock and rile up the animal in his head.

“Jacks,” and fuck, Jackson remembers thinking he could give this up, thinks about how he stopped, and he wonders how he didn’t die because hearing Stiles say his name like that makes the world stop spinning for a few short seconds, breathes oxygen straight into lifeless lungs.

* * *

_He never does get round to telling Lydia, or even Danny._

_It doesn’t mean anything, just a way to get his rocks off when Lyds is PMSing, or whatever. It isn’t like he is cheating, isn’t like he’s not doing anything Lydia doesn’t do. He just can’t be bothered with her bullshit, with Danny’s judgement. Besides, knowing Lydia and knowing about Stilinski’s ex-crush (god, he hopes the crush on Lyds is over), Lydia would just take it out on Stiles, and really, he doesn’t deserve it. It’s practically philanthropic, really._

_It isn’t because he wants something that is just his, something that he doesn’t have to share with Danny, because Danny and Lydia think his repression is unhealthy, or something like that. Fuck no. Stilinski is just a quick lay, and Jackson is making the most of it._

_“Jacks,” and fuck if that’s not something that Jackson likes, Stiles pulled taut and trembling, so strung out he can’t manage Jackson’s full name. It’s hot, knowing his partner is at that stage, that Jackson put them there. “Jacks, please, please-”_

_“Shhh,” he hushes, giving Stiles’ nipple a sharp bite through the thin t-shirt, making Stiles jerk and moan. “Shh, I’ll get you there.”_

_Stiles whines, and Jackson knows that he doesn’t want Lydia to force him to give this up._

_Not yet._

* * *

 

He takes the camera from Matt, and waits. Derek’s Bitten another- Isaac Lahey, of all people, the dude lower on the totem-pole than _Stiles_ , for fucks sake. Jackson’s better than him, yet he’s the failure that somehow hasn’t _changed._

He knows the Bite did something. Derek said that it either took, or you died. He wasn’t dead, so it had to have done something. But Lydia hadn’t died either, and she wasn’t turning. Maybe she’d - what? Passed that immunity onto him?

No. It took. It had hurt too much for it to not have.

The video shows nothing, and Jackson slams his fist into the wall in frustration. The punch doesn’t smash a hole the way Derek’s would have, the way Isaac fucking Lahey can now. He can’t have failed at this too. He can’t have.

He needs to be strong.

* * *

 

_He tells Stiles about Danny, about the other team. Stiles probably knows already - probably knows more than Jackson’s father does. The Sheriff didn’t seem to realise how many of his case files Stiles liked to snoop through._

_Stiles, well. He doesn’t tell Jackson about his mom, but Jackson sees him at his most vulnerable, and really, the people that think Stiles is weak don’t realise how many defensive walls he has built around himself._

_It makes something lurch uncomfortably in his chest, when McCall doesn’t react to seeing him. It means he must know. Of course he does - Stiles is uncomfortably close to McCall, enough that Jackson wonders, sometimes, if the reason that Stiles is weirdly good at a lot of the things they do, well. Maybe he had some practice at it. It doesn’t make Jackson jealous, not at all._

_But McCall knowing, it changes things. Maybe Stiles thinks -_

_No, Jackson’s just over-analysing. Stiles isn’t even thinking anything at the moment, because he’s fucked up and grieving, and here Jackson is thinking this_ ** _thing_** _is more important. He hands Stiles over to McCall’s more emotionally qualified hands, and heads home._

* * *

 

He starts losing time, and Stiles starts acting cagey around him.

He says Lydia is - something. Derek wants to kill her.

Jackson can believe it. The shit in the subway station, his questioning about the full moon. It makes him shake with rage, makes him want to _bitetearravage._ How dare he threaten Lydia? This is all his fault!

In this world, Lydia doesn’t kiss him, and Jackson doesn’t kiss her.

He tells her about werewolves instead. There’s a moment of something - realisation, maybe, in her. She opens her mouth to tell him what it was, and then it all goes to hell.

* * *

 

_“You’re different lately.” Lydia tells him, and Jackson shrugs. Danny and her share a look over his head, but he doesn’t bother looking up. Stiles had winked at him as he walked past him this morning, had dragged his finger across Jackson’s hand on his way to his seat._

_Jackson might be obsessing, but he needed to know what it meant. Was it an invitation? Would they meet today? Stiles said he was going to be busy, though. Maybe it was a tease. Maybe not though. Stiles didn’t tease when he didn’t intend to continue, and that was off today. Maybe it was an attempt at intimacy?_

_The thought made his stomach clench up, but he shook it away. It was natural to have some affection for someone you’re screwing, even if it’s just fuckbuddies. Stiles knew they weren’t serious, knew they were just playing around. It was just Jackson overthinking, as usual._

_“Well, whatever it is, I like it,” that is what makes Jackson jerk his head up, and look at Lydia with wide, confused eyes. Lydia smiles, and it’s the nice one, the genuine one, a million miles away from the sharp shark grin she gives most of the world. “You seem happier. Even when we’re not…”_

_Something flickers in her eyes. “...Especially then.” The smile is a little fake this time, but there’s still something real in it, enough that Jackson feels like a complete jerk. “Whoever she is, I hope she makes you happy.”_

_Jackson’s heart nearly beats out of his chest. It’s not like that. It wasn’t._

* * *

 

In some other time, in some other place, Jackson asked for the Bite because he wanted power. It’s almost true, here.

Some would say it didn’t matter what his reasoning was, in this world or any other. Jackson asked for it, and it made him something else.

Stepping on a butterfly ends the world. The tiniest changes make all the difference.

* * *

 

_He tells Stiles it’s over that day._

_Stiles looks confused, lost,_ hurt _\- and Jackson almost want to take it back, tell him he didn’t mean it, but Jackson’s always been a coward._

_Jackson is in too deep, and he has no guarantees that Stiles feels the same. It will hurt so much more later on if he waits, and it turns out Stiles is still just there for a good time. It’s his decision, to protect himself, but Jackson knows the minute he makes it that it’s a mistake. But he continues anyway._

_Walking away feels as easy as pulling each of his teeth out with pliers. The next few days, the death glares that McCall sends him feel deserved, and the distance between him and Stiles stretches for miles. It fucks him up, and it aches like a physical pain. He can’t help but look up everytime someone comes into the classroom, feels like an addict looking for his next fix. It’s the masochistic streak in him that makes him watch, as McCall abandons Allison at their table and sits with Stiles so he isn’t stuck next to them, as McCall hugs his friend, as McCall gets to do all the things Jackson just denied himself._

_He looks enough that Stiles catches him more than once. Everytime he locks eyes with Stiles, the ache gets deeper, and Jackson wants to fix it, make it better. He wants Stiles to be happy. Wants to be happy with him._

_Lydia notices, because she’s Lydia, and Danny isn’t stupid either. They corner him three days after the fact, when he’s driving them both home and he can’t escape._

_“Stilinski? Really?” Lydia wrinkles her nose in almost distaste, and it makes Jackson sick to think that he did the same._

_“Shut the fuck up.”_

_Lydia raises her eyebrows, but he can see Danny’s nod in the mirror. “No, it makes sense. Have you seen that mouth?”_

_“Yeah, it just keeps going when we’re all no longer listening.”_

_Jackson wants to snap, wants to tell her not to speak about him like that, but he did the same just a few months ago, and it feels like a lie._

_“Nah, those lips. And he’s got nice hands.”_

_Lydia scoffs. “Lips and hands, such high standards you have, Daniel.”_

_“It doesn’t matter,” Jackson interrupts before they can get going the way they always do. “It’s over now.”_

_Lydia sucks in a sharp breath, but neither of them look surprised. He’s not exactly been subtle, he knows. The road is pretty empty, so Jackson pulls over and turns on his hazards, before looking at them. There’s sympathy in their eyes, but no pity._

_“I’ll beat him up for you, if you want,” Danny offers, because he’s a good friend. “Just say the word. No one will ever suspect me.”_

_Jackson shakes his head. His mouth opens, then closes. He can’t explain it, not to himself, not to them._

_Luckily, or unluckily, Lydia knows him as well as Danny, and is less likely to assume he was in the right. “I bet Stilinksi didn’t even do anything. I bet Jackson cut his losses and ran the moment he realised feelings were involved.” Jackson grits his teeth, but she’s right, and he hates it._

_“I bet poor Stiles doesn’t even know what the hell happened. He would have thought you were just about to get somewhere,” she continues, but her tone is a bit gentler. “You just have to self-sabotage, don’t you, Jacks?”_

_He flinches at the nickname, remembering the last time Stiles had used it, looking so fucking sad, and takes a deep breath. Danny lays a hand on his shoulder, while Lyds folds him into a hug. “You’re so stupid, Whittemore.”_

_He already knew that._

* * *

 

The Bite had done something. Turned him into something. Not a werewolf, but something else. An abomination.

Jackson nearly hurt Lydia, did hurt Danny. Jackson killed Lahey’s dad. More people, names he doesn’t recognise, but from families he knows.

They’re in the back of a police van, and Stiles is looking at him, eyes soft and pleading, begging him to believe him.

In another world, another time, Jackson doesn’t. In another place, Stiles doesn’t know him well enough, hasn’t been hurt by Jackson, and sends _I love you._

In this world, Jackson believes him, and Stiles doesn’t make that mistake.

Allison and McCall still get distracted, but when they’re in the station later, Jackson human again, it doesn’t go the same way. There’s no threats of kidnapping charges, no restraining order. Jackson tells his dad it was a prank, and Sheriff Stilinski doesn’t get suspended.

Instead, Jackson makes desperate eyes at Stiles across the room, the look begs for Stiles to _save him._ Stiles nods, and it’s almost a promise.

* * *

_After, when Lydia is in the hospital, after they all went back to school for the last three days of classes like Jackson hasn’t watched Stiles kill a man, after he has dragged Stiles desperately into the cupboard after class, Jackson takes Stiles to bed. His parents are out, and Jackson needs to see - needs to know if the Alpha had left any evidence on Stiles, needs to know what he did to him._

_Jackson saw what happened on the field, felt the charge in the air as Peter Hale placed his claws on the delicate skin of Stiles chin, so close to his throat, and forced him to bare it. The whole way to the hospital, Jackson held Lydia’s hand despite her unconsciousness, and used it to reassure himself. Stiles was as smart as Lydia, he had to have a plan. He wouldn’t let the madman hurt him._

_A little voice in the back of Jackson’s mind asked what Stiles could do. Human Stiles, smart as a whip but so very fragile when compared to a werewolf. But Stiles is here now, and Peter Hale is not._

_Stiles tells him about being forced to give up Scott, trembling and looking terrified the way he refused to be that night. He tells Jackson about the nurses’ body, about being bent over the car, about the way Peter Hale held his delicate wrist to his mouth and offered him the bite. Jackson asks why he didn’t say yes, but Stiles just shakes his head, and they stop talking about it._

_He gets Stiles laid out in his bed, squirming and naked, and not for the first time, Jackson thinks about what it would be like, to fuck him. He looks at the lube on his nightstand, and back to the flush that is travelling steadily down Stiles’ chest, and he thinks this is the time to find out._

_He kisses Stiles when he comes, buried within him, and he thinks of how helpless he was on the lacrosse field, when his best friend was bleeding out, and Stiles was being dragged away. He thinks about the boy spread out underneath him, wrapped around him, and decides then, that he needs to be better. He needs to be able to protect him. He needs to be able to protect them all._

_“What are we doing, Jacks?” Stiles’ voice is tired, and it’s not just the afterglow that makes him sound that way. It’s weeks of stress, of fear, of heartbreak, and Jackson wishes he could at least take back what he caused. But time travel isn’t possible, and Jackson thinks he needed to nearly lose it to realise what he had._

_“I don’t know,” he says honestly, sincere in a way Jackson thinks he hasn’t been in a long time. “But I don’t want it to end.”_

_Stiles is silent for a moment, before he curls even deeper into Jackson’s arms. “Neither do I.”_

_This world has no key. No object that declared that life saving affection. Instead, in this world, Jackson holds Stiles tighter, and decides to be stronger._

* * *

 

There’s a party, and a full moon, and Jackson has been too distracted to realise that something is really wrong with Lydia. There’s flowers in the punch, and a couple without faces, without identities, and yet Jackson just _knows_ who they are.

There’s Stiles ducking from something, and Matt fucking Daehler being thrown into a swimming pool, and one day Stiles will tell him why he can no longer take a bath and spent weeks having a panic attack every time he had to shower.

There’s the police station, and Jackson and _it,_ when Jackson can almost remember, can almost see for the first time, can almost take control. Matt Daehler uses the Kanima wrong, and the Kanima remembers. The Kanima refuses to kill Stiles when Matt asks, and when it paralyses him, the part of the monster that is almost Jackson catches him and lays him down gently, beside Derek instead of on him. Jackson will never know if it was him or Matt that decided to spare Sheriff Stilinski, while they killed the four deputies in the building, but he chooses to believe that he wouldn’t have done it, if he had the choice.

Then Matt is drowning, and there’s another Master, this one more vile than the last. The Kanima kills murderers, and it tells Jackson that Gerard is one of the worst, and he fights it the whole way.

In the end, he’s not strong enough to stop the monster taking control.

* * *

 

_Lydia and he had always had a fraught relationship. They cared about each other, knew everything about one another, supported each other through Jackson’s adoption bombshell, and the Martin’s messy and drawn out divorce. But they weren’t meant for one another, no matter how hard they tried._

_They never said I love you, because the last thing Jackson needed was one more lie._

_With Stiles, Jackson never said “I love you”, but he felt it. He felt his entire body ache with the knowledge that there was one more person in his life that he could lose. Danny, Lydia - he knew he had them, no matter what he did. His mom, sometimes, but sometimes she looked at him like he was from another planet, someone she didn’t quite understand. His dad looked at him and all he saw was his own failure._

_But Stiles - Stiles looked at him as if he was the answer to a question Jackson didn’t know how to ask._

_In the scant time between, after Peter Hale is in the ground and before Jackson ruins his own life with the bite, Jackson thinks about telling Stiles that he loves him. Thinks about trying to make whatever it was between them real, and public. Thinks about holding Stiles’ hand in the corridor, kissing his cheek when he left the room. Thinks all the sappy, romantic, useless thoughts that he would never admit to, thoughts he would relentlessly mock Danny for._

_He wonders if there is a future for them, despite the way they started._

* * *

What Jackson knows now: he is a monster, and he has killed people. He’s a murderer, under the control of a man who was more of a monster than any non-human creature could be. He’s dangerous, and he could hurt the people he loves. His parents. Lydia and Danny. Stiles.

He’s a danger to humans, and he needs to be put down.

What Jackson finds out later: Lydia is being used by another kind of monster to claw his way back from the dead. Stiles is desperately arguing with Derek not to kill Jackson. His mom has went through his closet and found bloodied clothes. Gerard is dying of cancer.

Jackson is a danger, but Beacon Hills is full of danger, and death only ever begets more death.

* * *

_Jackson makes Stiles practice - really practice, the way he doesn’t get to as Coach’s favourite benchwarmer. They go out to the Preserve and practice catches, and passes, and the trees act as makeshift goals as they take turns being keeper. He hadn’t lied, back then, sitting on the bench; Stiles isn’t completely awful - he could, actually, be quite good if anyone paid attention to his technique._

_They play until it’s too dark to see anymore, and when they stop neither of them are ready to go home. Stiles kisses him, slow and soft, and it’s tender and not at all leading up to anything. The hood of the jeep is hard and cold despite their hoodies laid atop it. The half moon lays low and heavy in the sky, and the preserve is far from quiet around them, filled with the chirps and rustling of nocturnal animals. It’s not exactly a date at the movies, but the stars are bright in the sky, and Kate Argent and Peter Hale are dead._

_In a few days time, their life is going to go to hell, but just for this moment, Jackson can breathe._

* * *

 

In the locker room, before the lacrosse game, Jackson tells Danny to avoid him tonight. Danny is confused, but Jackson is insistent, and the boy finally capitulates, looking worried. Jackson doesn’t have time for his best friends concern. There’s a feeling, low in his gut - the same feeling he had when Peter Hale dragged Stiles away that night of the dance. For better or for worse, tonight is going to be the end of it.

He meets Stiles’ eye from the other side of the room, and his face is tight with stress. Stiles knows it too.

There’s no time for the to talk before they go on the field.

Somehow, miraculously, despite the fact half of the team consists of werewolves and people in the know who are definitely not invested in the game, they win. Jackson sees Stiles score and grins, before the lights go out, and Jackson stops being Jackson.

It comes in flashes, after that. Stiles’ being dragged away by Gerard and his goons. The pain in his stomach, the ambulance ride. He hears them pronounce him dead. He knows he’s in a body bag.

Then he’s in a warehouse, and there’s Derek, and Allison, Scott, Isaac; there’s his Master and Chris Argent. The jeep crashes through the wall and hits him. There’s Lydia, and she’s crying.

There’s Stiles. There’s Stiles, and he’s hurt. There’s a bruise spreading across his cheek, each knuckle of the fist that punched it distinct. His mouth is bleeding. He’s holding himself awkwardly, like his ribs ache. There’s Stiles, and the monster-that-is-Jackson is abruptly _furious._ What little humanity he was clinging onto melts away, and Jackson-that-isn’t is in its place.

Alpha is being dragged by the Beta, and it’s wrong, because the Beta shouldn’t have power over Alpha like that, but not-Jackson can’t deal with that right now. Not-Jackson is vengeance, is _justice,_ and Master-Murderer-Monster is neither. Master is too distracted by getting what he finally wants to keep an eye on not-quite-Kanima to make sure it is listening to his orders. It’s the final mistake that his Master-Monster makes.

All action in the room freezes when Jackson-Kanima rips Master’s throat out. The old man goes down with a gurgle, blood bubbling up from his mouth, spilling over thin lips. The Kanima killed its Master, so the Kanima has no master. The Kanima has -

Stiles.

Stiles is staring at him, eyes wide. He’s terrified. They did that, they scared their boy, their mate.

It’s almost a blessing when he feels his Alpha’s claws sink into his stomach, and another pair into his back; even as Lydia screams.

He hears Stiles’ anguished “ _JACKSON!”_ before it all goes black.

* * *

_He’s standing in a doorway. There’s a woman before him, arm outstretched, hand beckoning. He’s never seen her before in his life, but there’s something familiar about the sad twist of her lips, the particular shade of her green eyes._

_“Jacks?” the voice sounds from behind him. Stiles. “Jacks, where are you?”_

_He turns, a little, to answer, keeping his eyes on the woman. Something tells him that if he turns away completely, he’ll never see her again. “Here, Stiles.”_

_Jackson can’t see Stiles, but knows, instinctively, that the other boy is standing right behind him. He knows that his hand is being offered, the same way this woman’s is._

_“You’re not leaving, are you? Come back to me, Jackson.”_

_The woman continues to watch him, her face unchanging, but her eyes -_

_“Nah, I’m not leaving,” Jackson says, and for the first time, her lips twitch. He grabs Stiles’ hand without looking, and backs away from the doorway “I’m not going anywhere.”_

_The woman smiles, and she looks so familiar -_

* * *

Someone is touching him, holding him, talking to him.

“Don’t you fucking dare, Whittemore. Don’t you dare die after what you’ve just put us through,” the voice is Lydia’s, but the body holding him is distinctly masculine. Stiles.

There’s power burning through his veins, raging into an inferno that singing his core, melting the last of _badwrongicy_ coldness he’s felt since Derek bit him. He takes one breath, then another, and pulls away from the arms wrapped around him as the change takes over.

It feels - right. He feels strong. He feels everything he had expected to feel that day, when Derek sunk his teeth into his side. The shift pulls him apart and puts him back together again as something new, something better. For the first time, the creature in his head is not a monster, but a wolf, and it is Jackson, just different. Jackson raises his head and _howls._

“Jacks?”

The voice is quiet. Tentative. Everything Stiles is not. Jackson turns to look at him, the boy who brought him back to life. The moment he locks eyes with Stiles the shift begins to recede. He can feel the power leech from his eyes, feels his facial muscles reform, his fangs and claws retract. Finally, he stands there, completely human in looks.

It seems like that was what Stiles was waiting for, because he rushes forward and pulls him into a hug. “Jesus, Jesus fucking Christ, you were fucking dying, oh holy fuck-”

Jackson shoves his face into Stiles’ temple, taking big deep lungfuls of his scent. Yes, he’s more powerful now. He can protect them - Stiles, in his arms; Lydia, who is standing a little back, hands over her mouth and unshed tears in her eyes; Danny, who is at home, far away from any of this shit but still living in Beacon Hills, still in danger.

He never wanted to hurt anyone. He just wanted to be able to take care of the people he loves most.

Jackson doesn’t even realise he’s speaking, frantically trying to explain why this whole thing happened, why he took the Bite and put everyone in danger, until Stiles starts hushing him, and Lydia rushes forwards. They both hold him even as he sinks to the floor, crying, because it’s over but it’s not, because Jackson killed fourteen people and nearly died himself, and now he is aware enough for it to sink in.

Slowly, he can feel himself begin to calm, as Stiles and Lydia’s murmured reassurances begin to filter through. It’s not over, not by far, but Jackson is too wrung out to hold onto the emotions he’s feeling. Stiles presses kisses into his forehead, and Lydia runs her nails over his scalp, and they rock him as the hysteria runs its course. Over Stiles’s shoulder, he can blurrily see the rest of them attempt to give them privacy, which he appreciates, not that it helps much. They’ve all seen him rip the throat out of a man.

“And to top it all off, I’m fucking naked. Everyone involved with the supernatural has seen my dick. Great.”

Stiles chokes out a laugh, and Lydia gives an ugly snort. “To be fair, everyone who’s been in a locker room with you has seen your dick. I don’t know why you’re complaining, it’s a very nice dick.”

“Oh Christ Stilinski, save it for the bedroom. I don’t want to hear about my best friend’s cock.”

“You never had any complaints before,” Jackson hiccups. Lydia tosses her hair over her shoulder, and scowls, but she’s still rubbing his back and she looks fond.

There’s still so much to be done. The Kanima is gone, but Jackson isn’t human, still needs to learn how to be not-human. The people he killed are still dead. But for that moment, he’s safe, and so are Lydia and Stiles, and for that moment, he just breathes.

In another world, Jackson doesn’t love Stiles. In this one, it saves him.

**Author's Note:**

> TO BE CONTINUED  
> jackson needs therapy, stiles needs his jeep fixed, and danny/scott/lydia need more screentime. peter hale is back too, did anyone notice?


End file.
